“I’d rather talk about this,” I replied. With that, Max heaved a burlap sack onto the counter and dumped out one of the giant boggart’s toenails. I’d been disgusted when Max had suggested that we should dig up the boggart’s corpse and just rip off a trophy, more so when he explained that a toenail, which was curved and cracked (not to mention smelly) and the length of Max’s forearm, would be the easiest, and least messy, body part to carry with us. Really, who could argue with that? And he assured me that he could match the residual magic on the toenail to whoever had cast it.
Based on how the crone’s eye twitched at the sight of it, she also thought we could trace any leftover bits of magic. Or perhaps it was just an involuntary reaction to the stench of putrid boggart flesh. “Are you looking to sell this?” she asked.
“Would someone buy it?” I asked.
The crone cackled. “Fools will buy anything!”
She had a point. She also wasn’t going to distract me from the purpose of my visit. “Well, someone cursed this boggart to make it a giant pain in my ass. Any idea who would do that?”
“Who are your enemies?” she countered.
“I don’t have any,” I said, while Max murmured, “Lots.” Confused, I turned toward my brother. “Think about it, Sara. Micah’s got lots of enemies—basically, any Elemental who doesn’t want metal to rule, not to mention the rest of metal who think they should be ruling. If they take out Oriana, Micah’s next in line. And you know what metal comes after silver.”
I so did not need to be reminded about that. “Why a boggart?”
“Why not? It can annoy us, distract us long enough that we don’t see what’s really going on.” Max was thoughtful for a moment, as he studied the yellowish, dirt-caked toenail. Then he raised his eyes, his hard gaze wiping the smirk right off of the crone’s face. “And you’re the one who did it.”
“I did nothing—”
“Don’t lie,” Max commanded. “This powder is identical to the stuff in that jar.” Max indicated a reddish, crumbly substance caked on the underside of the nail and jerked his head toward the shelves of jars. “Besides, I can feel your magic on it. It’s as unique as a retina scan.”
The crone’s eyes burned, and I mean burned; flames actually leapt across her pupils. “Just because my powder was used on the beast does not mean that I cast the spell.”
“But you know who did,” I said. “We won’t hold it against you. We know that you’re only trying to make a living here, selling your wares.” I leaned across the counter and asked, “Come, dearie, I thought you wanted a few friends in Lord Silverstrand’s house?”
She glared at me for a long moment, so long that I worried she was about to blast us with her fiery eyeballs. As it usually does, self-preservation won out in the end. “Farthing Greymalkin.”
Old Stoney. Figures. “Why?”
“I’ve no idea, other than it was easy enough to accomplish. You might want to take up something other than gambling,” she added, with a pointed look at Max.
“Why did you give me an apple?” I blurted out. It was so not the point of our visit, but I had to know.
“It was a test,” she hedged.
“A test of what?”
“Your intelligence.” She cackled again and produced a basket of the shiny red fruit. “Had you been foolish enough to eat it, I would have been summoned to save you, and Lord Silverstrand would have been indebted to me. Since you chose to burn my gift, I know you aren’t as stupid as other mortals. Be glad you passed the test, Lady Silverstrand.”
“If I’d eaten it and gotten sick, Micah would have killed you,” I said. “Or my mother, if she got to you first.”
The crone shrugged. “Maeve would have been furious if her own child had fallen for such a common trick. Furious with you,” she added.
That was true, but Mom would have worked out her disappointment in her daughter’s bad judgment on the crone’s hide. Being that I couldn’t stand to be in the apothecary for another moment, I slipped a few silver coins onto the counter; in the Whispering Dell, they were worth far more than gold. “If Greymalkin asks you for anything else, come to me. I’ll pay for the information. Well.” With that, we turned to leave, leaving the rotting toenail on the counter. That’s what the crone got for doing business with people like Old Stoney.
“I’ll give you a bit of information at no charge, my lady,” she called after us. “To prove my loyalty to the Silverstrand house, of course.” We turned and waited. “Have you noticed that none of copper yet attend you in person?”